New Times

A destiny that tricks and whispers
Requiems of future obsessions
Destroyed evidence that conceived a birth
A whimsy foretelling of older notions
 
Such is the disposition of the newest times
A purity prevailed to darken and smother
Worldly knowledge which requested disparity
And love, a thing expressed through lilting monologues
 
It has never been the disfiguring patterns
In which blame is to be stacked
But to the drawing hand’s inclinations
Flowery prose insisted to mask the decay
 
So, it is with fractured merit
A world of dim proceedings
Propriety abandoned in haste filled greed
That the path ahead is labeled distention